Page 19 of Code Name: Grit

I lay on the thin mattress, staring at the ceiling. Maybe it would be for the best if I teamed up with someone else. But I needed her, and as I’d said earlier, there was no way I’d allow anyone else to partner with her.

6

LUMI

Sleep proved elusive despite my exhaustion. The digital clock by the bed read midnight, but I was far too wired to rest. I stared at the ceiling, my mind replaying the image of Cassio Belcastro standing at the shipping terminal. I saw glimpses of myself in him—in his stance, his gestures, the tilt of his head as he talked to his minions.

Equally persistent were thoughts of Grit’s rejection and how it stung more than it should have.Go, Lumi. Please.His tone had been harsh, almost cold. After our earlier kiss, after the way his eyes had darkened when I emerged from the bathroom in my pajamas, his dismissal hurt.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and padded silently to the window. The city stretched below, a constellation of lights against the darkness. Somewhere out there, Cassio Belcastro was planning his next move across multiple criminal enterprises.

As I gazed at the cityscape, my mind kept returning to the inconsistencies I’d noticed. Rafael Patriarca’s organization had been making aggressive moves in New Jersey, yet they’d mysteriously backed away from direct confrontation in areaswhere they traditionally clashed with the Belcastros. Cassio himself was showing restraint that contradicted everything I’d learned about him over the years. These weren’t the actions of crime families expanding their empires—they resembled something else entirely, though I couldn’t quite place what.

And yet, instead of strategizing our next countermoves, my thoughts drifted to a man I had no business fantasizing about. The memory of his kiss lingered—the gentle pressure of his lips and the way his hand had cupped my face with unexpected tenderness.

I pressed my forehead on the cool glass. I’d spent my life avoiding attachment, protecting myself both physically and emotionally, but I’d never felt as vulnerable as I did right now. My entire world had been built around staying invisible, yet here I was, deliberately stepping into view.

When I openedmy eyes again and saw that dawn had broken over the city skyline, bathing the room in soft light, I couldn’t recall getting into bed or falling asleep. The few hours of rest I’d managed were fitful.

When I emerged from the bedroom, Grit was already up, dressed in a crisp white shirt and charcoal suit that highlighted the breadth of his shoulders and made my pulse quicken.

“Morning,” he said, not meeting my eyes as he handed me a cup of coffee.

“Thanks.” I steeled my reaction when our fingers brushed. “How did you sleep?”

He rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly. “I’ve had better nights. That sofa bed should be classified as a torture device.”

I smiled despite myself. “I did offer an alternative.”

“Which is exactly why I stayed put,” he said, his eyes finally meeting mine.

Turning my back to him, I set the coffee down on the counter, then retreated into the bedroom, hoping he didn’t notice I clenched my fists on the way. While I had very little experience with men—almost none, honestly—I’d read enough books and watched enough TV to know a man who was even remotely interested in a woman wouldn’t say he’d rather sleep on a torture device than share a bed with her.

“Hey,” I heard him say from behind me. “That came out differently than I meant it.”

I glanced over my shoulder. “There wasn’t much room for ambiguity.”

“May I come in?”

I checked the time rather than respond. “Don’t we need to leave soon?”

“Not until we talk.”

“This is ridiculous,” I said under my breath, folding my arms as I turned to face him. I hadn’t actually invited him into the room, but he stalked over to me anyway. Even when he wrapped his arm around my waist, I maintained my defensive posture.

“What’s between us is dangerous, Chiara, and you know it.”

“The solution is simple. Just stay away from me,” I said, trying to wriggle from his grasp and put distance between us. Instead, he tightened his hold, turned me to face him, and put the fingers of his opposite hand on my chin, raising my face.

“I can’t, and that has nothing to do with the op we’re on.”

“Then, I’ll stay away from you.”

My breath caught when he leaned in as though he might kiss me.

“Don’t, Grit, please.” Yes, I repeated words similar to his of last night, and, yes, doing so made me feel childish and immature, but it was too late to take them back.

“When we return to the lake, we need to talk.”

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